I swear my body is alive and hates me. Obviously it’s alive, but I mean that I swear it has a mind of its own. Again this is obvious, it does have a mind, my one, the one I’m using to relay the thingies to the thingies that make me type these thingies. What I mean is, that I think my body has a separate independent mind of its own. Not a brain, that would be weird and would require me to be examined, or made to stand in a tank of water like Tom Hanks in Splash.
I mean more of a higher state of consciousness in that it is working separately from what my brain is telling it to do (it may just be a rebel faction in my brain sending out all the wrong signals.)
But essentially I want to do sit ups, and my body doesn’t.
Every time I’ve had the quarterly “Christ I’m not as slim as I used to be” panic my body halts any exercise progress by hurting me.
I’ve done my back in, admittedly this was before I realised I was fat, way back in the annals of time that are last Wednesday. But this evening I donned shorts and tried to do some sit ups. I couldn’t, it hurt. I know there is a pain barrier, but this was taking the piss.
I resorted instead to stomach crunches, but not really knowing what these are, I lost interest fairly quickly.
By now I was a bit depressed and the thought of doing sit ups made me want to cry. After all, press ups are harder than they look and make you realise pretty swiftly that you’re not a marine, and if you were to find yourself unexpectedly in a marine situation , like a school sports day for example, then you’d lose and be laughed at, or possibly dead if it was a war sports day.
So I had a cup of tea instead.